Grief

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I am jealous of my mother.
You see
she has still has me.
When we are together
I stand outside of myself,
and watch her enjoy my company:
the lunches,
the gossip,
the girl talk,
the shopping,
things
that look like fluff to everyone else,
but are really
a ‘ministry of presence’.

The longing for
what my mother has,
must seem fruitless.
After all,
I had my quarter century with my daughter,
that much and no more was allotted to me.
My mother…
she is allotted twice those years
and maybe more..
(For better or for worse,
As I am not the charmer I once was...)

Sometimes
when I see my mother
(out of the corner of my mind’s eye),
chit chatting,
laughing,
fearful
tearful
most times full of pride,
I watch her watch me.
I am jealous.
You see,
she still has her girl,
her first born daughter,
she still has the pleasure of my company
(for better or for worse)
and what she has…
can never be…
…for me.

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